There are two responses you should give someone who says, "I think I might want to get bangs.."

A) No.

B) But do you really want to?

A couple of weeks ago, I felt myself get caught up in the waves of regularity. I wanted to change something. I deleted my Facebook, set my Instagram to private, bought a new pair of earrings, and yet here I was, again, restless. A new tattoo has been consistently out of reach and my desire to pierce something new is nonexistent...what's easier to change than your own hair? I've never been brave enough to dye it the deep auburn color I've had my eyes on for years and therefore I ended up scrolling through photos of bangs. Yikes.

Naturally, I made my decision within a couple of hours and before the end of the day, I had an appointment booked for the next morning. I had sent photos to my family, my closest girlfriend, and my partner, all of whom were very supportive in this awful choice (haha). I went to sleep having already prepared myself for the worst with this haircut to come.

Over the past seven years, a pair of scissors have touched my hair maybe three times, all in which were very basic trims. There has only been one woman who I trust to cut my hair and she lives back home in Italy and tries not to let her jaw drop every time I do decide to come in for a trim. Why, you ask? Seven years ago, the summer going into my senior year of high school, I decided to get my hair cut. The lady cut it so uneven that after crying for an hour at home about it, I returned to have it fixed, upon which they had to chop off two inches to fix it. I had a bob-cut going into my senior year of high school. I cried for roughly three straight days.

So, as I am hand-sweating my way through my wait time, my hairdresser comes to get me and asks me about the haircut I am seeking. I very calmly locked eyes with her and said, "this is the first time someone is cutting my hair. I am freaking out." HER FACE WAS PRICELESS: "seven years?" Luckily, this hairdresser was pretty nice about everything and kept checking in on my mental stability throughout the process. After the whole ordeal was over with, I walked outside into a gust of wind and immediately didn't know what to do with my hair; my bangs parted in every direction into the air forcing me to just accept it and hope I didn't look too 80's rockstar-ish.

Like I had mentioned before, I had done some mental prep for this hair cut and basically was expecting to hate what I saw but was also ready to embrace whatever new challenge this haircut was going to present for me. No joke. This is the exact reason why I haven't had the Post Haircut Mental Breakdown; I am trying to look forward to what the bangs will look like in a couple of months and you can bet your sweet self that I already busted out the peppermint oil because your girl is IMPATIENT. I'll tell ya though, my regret lies heavier with how much hair had to be cut off due to it being dead (whoops) because if I had never gone to get it cut...it would still touch the back of my elbow when it's in a ponytail!

To recap: do not let your gal friend just up and decide to get bangs, and do not let her follow through with it......unless they are ready for the weirdness of going from twenty-four to twelve.